


Nice Pockets

by melissa8123



Series: Texts From Last Night [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-28
Updated: 2012-12-28
Packaged: 2017-11-22 19:11:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/613265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melissa8123/pseuds/melissa8123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(509):<br/>You said something about how beautiful my pockets were, then walked away.<br/>(1-509):<br/>Yes talking about pockets is classic me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nice Pockets

Stiles can’t believe he actually has an invite to Lydia’s party. He knows it only has to do with the fact that Allison is Lydia’s best friend and she’s dating Scott, who is Stiles’ best friend, but he really doesn’t care either way. He’s finally going to one of Lydia’s birthday parties, which are the biggest of the big things in Beacon Hills. If you made it to Lydia’s party, you were in. Stiles doesn’t know in where exactly, he just knows he’s in.

He dresses in his absolute best and has a shit eating grin on his face when he walks into the party with Scott and Allison. He takes a drink off the table and doesn’t waste any time getting comfortable and mingling. He has to use this opportunity while he has it; he really doesn’t know how long it’s going to last.

Of course his main goal is looking for Lydia and trying to woo her. He figures she can only deny him for so long. And with a few drinks in him, he’ll be way smoother than he usually is. Because that’s definitely how it works, right?

When he does finally find Lydia, however, he can’t even find out if that’s true, because Jackson is basically eating her face. And it’s kind of gross. Ok, it’s actually really gross, and Stiles just really doesn’t want to see that, ever. Just, no. He shakes his head so hard, hoping to shake the image out of it, but really all it does it make him a little dizzy.

He decides then that he needs more alcohol. Definitely more alcohol. Definitely right now.

So he makes his way back to the kitchen where all the various forms of alcohol are collected and grabs the closest thing to him and just chugs. It tastes horrible but he doesn’t care. After that one is down, he looks for something that might actually taste good and, yes, that’s better. Of course, at that point, anything would probably taste better because he’s pretty sure he’s drunk. Excellent.

He tries to find Scott so he has someone to talk to and complain to Jackson about, because Scott will understand if it’s about Jackson. But that’s not a good idea, because he’s with Allison, and Stiles can tell they’re dangerously close to ending up like Jackson and Lydia. And Stiles doesn’t need any more of that.

So he just walks around, talking to anyone. He talks to Greenberg for a little bit, and that kid seriously has some problems. He’s scared for his dog’s life after he hears the plans Greenberg has for it and he kind of wants to go kidnap it before Greenberg can get home from the party.

Then he sees Danny walk by and he decides that he just really needs to find out once and for all if he’s attractive to gay guys, because he’s been having these… _thoughts_. Some might go as far as to call them homoerotic thoughts, but Stiles doesn’t think he’d go that far. Ok, maybe he would a little bit, with the alcohol coaxing it out of him. So he takes another gulp of his drink and he doesn’t chase after Danny, he casually walks in the same direction as him.

“Danny!” he calls out when he’s close enough, and Danny turns around with a smile.

“Hey Stiles. What’s up?” 

“You know you never answered my question,” Stiles says.

“And what question would that be?” Danny is clearly confused.

“Am I attractive to gay guys? Like do you personally think I’m attractive? You’re the only gay guy I know. And I just… I just need to know Danny,” Stiles pleads.

Danny just laughs and shakes his head.

“That’s not the answer I’m looking for here Danny!”

“How much have you had to drink?”

“Why are you avoiding this question? Am I that hideous? Just lie to me to make me feel good, I probably won’t remember any of this in the morning anyways.” Wow, when did Stiles get this desperate? Oh yeah, when all of his friends were hooking up and he was left high and dry; very, _very_ dry. 

“Yeah Stiles, you’re cute, ok?” Danny finally says, a bit exasperated, and Stiles really can’t tell if it’s a lie, but doesn’t even care if is.

“Aw, _really_? Danny, that’s so sweet of you,” and Stiles is moving towards Danny before he really even realizes what’s going on.

“Ok, yeah, that’s not going to happen,” Danny says, holding his hands out to stop Stiles before anything can actually happen. He pats Stiles on the back and Stiles feels _so_ patronized that he almost wants to go sulk in the corner somewhere.

But then he sees Derek Hale across the room and he’s really not sure at all why Derek is there. Maybe Isaac or Boyd or Erica is there and he wants to keep an eye on them. Maybe he’s just a creepy 20-something year old who likes crashing high school parties. Maybe he came to see Stiles. 

Ha! Stiles snorts at that and he knows he’s definitely past the stage of drunk and somewhere between wasted and absolutely trashed if he thinks Derek is there for him. But he still doesn’t think he has enough alcohol in his system to deal with Derek Hale so he goes to get just a little bit more. That should be enough, he thinks.

After he has his fresh drink cradled in his hand and already half gone, he goes to find Derek again. And he finds him standing by himself glaring at everyone and no one in particular. Classic Derek.

“Hey Derek,” Stiles slurs as he comes to stand next to him.

“Stiles,” Derek says in that cute little angry way he has and Stiles can’t help but smile.

“What are you doing here? Don’t you have some crazy werewolf stuff that you should be doing?”

“I wish, but…” Derek starts and then Stiles kind of stops listening to what he was saying. He lets himself be distracted by the way Derek’s stubble-covered jaw is moving while he’s talking. That thing should really be illegal. Then he lets his eyes wander to the gray Henley that is hugging Derek’s biceps and pecs and just _everything_ in all the right places. And he really can’t stop there, can he? Those jeans! Derek should only be allowed to wear those jeans, well, or nothing at all. And yeah, did Stiles mention that those homoerotic thoughts all had Derek fucking Hale as the subject? 

“What are you doing?” Derek asks suddenly, and by the tone of his voice it doesn’t seem like it’s actually all that suddenly, and it seems like he has already said it a couple times. Stiles becomes painstakingly aware at that moment that he’s staring unabashedly at Derek’s ass. 

“You have really beautiful pockets, uh, on your pants there.” Stiles barely stops himself from pointing straight at Derek’s ass. “They’re just really, _really_ nice pockets. I don’t think I’ve ever seen any that look that good. I mean, I didn’t even know it was possible to have that nice of pockets.” 

When exactly did pockets become a euphemism for ass? Stiles isn’t sure, but it’s happened. And he just really needs to go before he says something else about Derek’s fucking _pockets_. So he does, he just walks away and ignores Derek’s stare that he can feel on the back of his head, because really, what else can he do?

*****

The next morning Stiles has a horrible hangover and promises to himself that he’s never drinking again. Especially because he can barely even remember what happened at the party. He remembers talking to Scott and Allison when he got there, and he remembers seeing Jackson eat Lydia’s face, and oh god, he’s going to throw up.

After that it’s all kind of just black. Shit. He really hopes he didn’t do anything too humiliating. Because really, embarrassing moments are his forte, he just hopes it didn’t go overboard last night.

He sits up and grabs his phone to text Scott to ask him for some details and groans a little when he sees a notification for a text from Derek. He opens it tentatively.

_**What was wrong with you last night? You were weirder than usual**_

_Yeah? What do you mean?_

He tries to play it cool, act like nothing happened.

_**You said something about how beautiful my pockets were, then walked away.**_

_Yes talking about pockets is classic me._

Stiles throws up a hand and basically face palms, because he suddenly remembers that bit of conversation, and he knows he definitely wasn’t actually talking about Derek’s pockets. Shit.

_**Stiles what’s going on?**_

Stiles doesn’t reply. Because he can’t talk about this over text. Actually, he can’t talk about this, _period_. Nope, not gonna happen. Ever. Never ever. He’s just going to avoid it like a big fat avoider because that’s what he does best.

Unfortunately that plan doesn’t work out too well because not even a half hour later Derek Hale is coming in through his bedroom window.

“Fuck, Derek, you can’t just _do that_! I really need to get a better window lock,” he says to himself as an afterthought. 

“Stiles, tell me what’s going on.” Stiles looks up and sees a red glow in Derek’s eyes.

“Don’t even try that on me Mr. ‘I’m the alpha now.’ It doesn’t work. I’m not a werewolf, remember?”

“Just, you’re so frustrating! Tell me what the hell is going on!”

“You think I’m frustrating?” Stiles yells, something snapping inside of him. And he instantly regrets it, because yeah, hangover, headache, not a good time to be yelling, but he can’t stop. “You come around looking like _this_ ,” a flail of arms and hands helps Stiles get his point across, “all the time, and you think _I’m_ frustrating? You’re so dumb, dude.” Stiles laughs and he’s not sure if it’s at Derek or at his life right now.

And god dammit even the confused expression on Derek’s face is somehow sexy and Stiles really doesn’t know what’s wrong with him.

And he thinks there’s probably still some alcohol in his system because the next thing he knows he’s climbing out of his bed and walking towards Derek and he’s kissing him. Holy shit, he’s kissing Derek Hale! 

And Derek, well Derek doesn’t do anything. He’s not ripping Stiles’ throat out with his teeth so that’s good, but he’s not kissing back either so that’s not so good.

Stiles pulls back and looks at Derek with questioning eyes and bites his bottom lip.

And Stiles can see that the red glow of Derek’s eyes is back and he’s scared because, shit, he’s made him really mad.

“You’re so frustrating Stiles, because no one has ever made me lose control like you do. And I couldn’t read you, I had no idea what was ever going on in that adorable fucking head of yours because your thoughts go everywhere and I can’t tell what’s what when I’m trying to listen to your heartbeat. And you _always_ smell turned on, which by the way, smells _so_ fucking good, that I couldn’t tell if it was because of me or what. I’m just, not used to it. And your fucking mouth is so obscene.”

Stiles can feel Derek’s gaze on his mouth and now he’s scared for another reason.

“The things I want to do to that mouth,” Derek actually growls and holy shit, Stiles is so so turned on right now and he’s absolutely sure Derek can smell it.

Derek surges forward and attaches his lips to Stiles’ again in a bruising kiss. “You have the best mouth,” he mumbles against it through the kiss.

“But you have the best pockets,” Stiles says as they break slightly for air and he slips his hands into Derek’s back pockets before kissing him again, just because he can do that now.


End file.
